


gonna get along somehow

by floweryfran



Series: my girl(s) [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Cute Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Iron dad and Spider son, IronDad and SpiderSon, Irondad, Irondad fluff, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark - Freeform, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark Friendship (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Morgan Stark are Siblings (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker fluff, Plotless Fluff, Precious Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, irondad and spider-son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23097859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweryfran/pseuds/floweryfran
Summary: Peter cannot explain whyWalk Like A Manis stuck in his head relentlessly, violently, rudely, and in all ways infuriatingly. There is no reason. None. He cannot remember the last time he even listened to the damn song. This is ridiculous. This song should be illegal, they should use it as a form of psychological warfare, Peter is losing it. It zips between his ears like the narrow tape inside cassettes, an endless loop, rewinding itself of its own accord.It’s lucky for him that Morgan, gummy and plump and barely one, happens to love Frankie Valli.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe)
Series: my girl(s) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659547
Comments: 48
Kudos: 275





	gonna get along somehow

**Author's Note:**

> thanos was locked in a porter-potty and slingshotted into messier 82. he is covered in stale shit hurtling through the vacuum of space. peter got to be there for morgan's birth.

Peter cannot explain why _Walk Like A Man_ is stuck in his head relentlessly, violently, rudely, and in all ways infuriatingly. There is no reason. None. He cannot remember the last time he even listened to the damn song. It’s ridiculous. This song should be illegal, they should use it as a form of psychological warfare, Peter is losing it. It zips between his ears like the narrow tape inside cassettes, an endless loop, rewinding itself of its own accord.

It’s lucky for him that Morgan, gummy and plump and barely one, happens to love Frankie Valli.

_“The world isn’t coming to an end,”_ Peter sings, eyes overly wide, voice far closer to a breathy speech than anything songlike. Morgan is laying flat on her back on a primary-colored foam puzzle the size of Peter’s entire bedroom, with pillows and stuffed animals and all sorts of abandoned toys strewn around her. Peter is sitting beside her, leaning bodily over her, an elbow planted on either side of her tiny shoulders. 

Morgan shrieks, kicking out her legs.

_“He said,”_ Peter sings in an overly dramatic deep voice, before returning to his G-d-given one, the strain of all this singing causing his throat to ache, _“walk like a man! Talk like a man! Walk like a man, my Mooorgan!”_

Morgan recognizes her name and grins, reaching up to grab Peter’s nose in one sticky fist.

“Ew,” says Peter. “Why are you always sticky? What goop is on you, huh, Mo? We didn’t play Play-Doh today. We didn’t have lunch yet. Are babies always just sticky and gross? Is that it?” He scoops her up in his arms, pressing her warm belly against his chest, an arm under her legs and a hand on the top of her back. She’s tiny, like Tony, with his exact eyes, but her personality is a terrifying blend of him and Pepper. By the age of eight, Peter is sure she’ll have the capability to level nations.

He can’t wait.

He’s been watching Morgan a lot recently, at his own request, because she’s fucking adorable and he loves her so much. Like, wow, this right here? A grade-A baby. Peter misses her when he isn’t around. She can say all of three words, they can’t have conversations, she isn’t even a productive member of society, and yet Peter is wrapped so far around her tiny baby finger that it’s embarrassing. She’s his background on his phone _and_ his laptop. He keeps clean diapers in his backpack in case he stops by the Manhattan penthouse on his way home from school unplanned. Sometimes, he snacks on a tube of those little cardboard-flavored puffs Tony buys in bulk and Morgan lets melt halfway in her mouth before spitting out.

She poops, like, all the time. And she has the loudest voice ever. Once, she cried so loud that it made Peter cry, just because it hurt his ears. (He has Morgan-proof ear plugs now.)

“You’re so stinking cute,” Peter says. Their noses brush together and Morgan flails with joy. “Yes, I’m talking about you, Mo. Mini muffin. Tootsie roll. Snuffleupagus.”

Morgan giggles.

“Oh, you like that word?” Peter says. “Me too, even though it’s technically not real. Do mommy and daddy even let you watch Sesame Street, or is that considered below your level of refined intellect?”

Morgan blows a bubble at him.

“Yucky, Mo,” he says, grinning, using the bib around her neck to dab away the wetness. “You wanna play a game? What do you wanna do?”

“Man, man, man,” she says.

“Oh, my G-d. You want an encore. I’m not emotionally prepared to deliver an encore, I’ve never had anyone appreciate my— incredible natural singing talent before.”

“Man, man, man,” she repeats, bopping her head side to side.

Peter snorts. “I think Natasha is gonna have to teach you to dance properly, because that? That was pitiful.”

A sound like microphone feedback comes from above them. _“I think you’re brilliant, Momo, don’t listen to your asshole brother.”_

“Why are you watching us?” Peter yelps. “What the heck? What the heck?”

_“Tony, don’t curse in front of Morgan.”_ That’s Pepper.

Peter splutters. “The lack of trust here is disheartening, to say the least. Et tu, Pep?”

_“No, we’re not— we’re just—”_

_“We’re just checking in quickly,”_ Pepper says far more eloquently.

“Aren’t you at a fancy restaurant?” Peter says as Morgan, recognizing the voices, begins to babble, “mamamamama.”

_“Hi, sweetheart!”_ Pepper says. _“Be good for Peter!”_

_“Why did she ignore me? Does she hate me? Peter— Peter I need you to describe her exact facial expression right now this very moment in impeccable detail—”_

“FRIDAY, please hang up on them,” Peter says.

_“Sure thing, Young Boss.”_

And like that, silence falls. 

Peter looks down at Morgan, who peers back up at him through ridiculous, feathery eyelashes.

“Now, where were we?” 

“Man, man, man.”

“Right, right, that’s exactly where we were.”

Peter sets Morgan on the mat, sitting up, a pillow behind her in case she tips. (She tends to drop right over when she gets too excited. It’s hilarious and dangerous at once and always leaves Peter nauseous.)

Peter positions himself a few feet in front of her and poses dramatically, the way he figures a Jersey Boy might pose. (He wouldn’t know; you’d never catch him dead in Jersey.)

_“Bye, bye, baby,”_ he sings, doing a very Grease-lightning dance move, bending his knees inward. _“I don’t mean maybe. Gonna get along somehooow.”_

Morgan claps her hands, delighted, giggling, drooling. She’s awesome.

_“Soon you’ll be cryin’,”_ Peter sings, pouting exaggeratedly, _“on account of all your lyin’. Oh yeah, just look who’s laughing now!”_

It’s Morgan. She’s laughing.

_“I’m gonna walk like a man! Fast as I can! Walk like a man from youuu!”_ Peter backs away, still dancing, and Morgan’s hands fly up as she squeals. 

“No, it’s just part of the lyrics, kiddo, I’m right here, I’m not leaving you, not really,” Peter hurries to assure. He comes down to his hands and knees, his forehead almost bumping Morgan’s, their wildly curly hair brushing. 

“Man, man, man,” Morgan says.

Peter nods sagely. “Exactly.”

“Pee,” she says.

This is what she calls Peter. 

“Yes, very astute,” Peter says.

“Mo,” she says. 

“That’s you,” he agrees. “Momo.”

She smiles. Her smile could stop world war. It sits right behind her eyes, makes them gleam, the color like waxed hickory wood, like coffee with just a splash of cream at six in the morning, when everything is still and as quiet as it gets, delicate. Little nubby teeth. Her cheeks, round and soft and pink. 

“Ahhh,” Peter says. “You are so fucking cute. I love you so much. I would do anything for you. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’d take eighty bullets for you. I’d eat broccoli for you. I’d steal the Declaration of Independence for you.”

Morgan’s face twists. She grunts.

Peter sniffs.

“Oh my— Morgan, did you just shit? Aw, man.” He lifts her up from her armpits. “Alright, menace. You know how much I love you? I’m about to change your poopoo diaper. That’s how much. Ain’t no man ever gonna love you this much again, so don’t get used to it.”

He stares balefully at her blissed out face. 

“You know what? I take it back. Every man will love you this much. Every girl, too, every single person, I don’t care how they identify, they will love you because I said so.”

She grins.

“Yup. That’s right, squirt. Jesus, I already forgive you for pooping and everything. Alright, Mo. C’mon. What should I sing for you while I wipe your ass, hmm?”

“Man, man, man.”

“I— am not surprised.”

**Author's Note:**

> PLOTLESS FLUFF NONSENSE!!! YES SIR!!!
> 
> rutgers is kicking us out for 'rona, this is the best worst thing to ever happen to me. we're forced off campus until april 3rd, all of our classes are going online, which YES because i don't have to talk to people but NO because if you've read my other stories you know my home life is a terrible twisted joke so this will be interesante to say the least
> 
> i hope u enjoyed this, you can leave a comment or whatever if you want, you have permission to do that
> 
> let me know who u want next (i'm deciding between nat and miss michelle)
> 
> i LOVE YOU okay <3


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